


can't get no satisfaction

by wastrelwoods



Series: Meg Does Kinktober! [4]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Anal Plug, Clothed Sex, Kinktober 2020, Nipple Clamps, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Vibrators, also some morning sex. right at the top, god. a lot in this one huh., the fics.....keep getting longer....but its ALL STILL PORN SO. thats good i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastrelwoods/pseuds/wastrelwoods
Summary: Peter comes back from a trip bearing gifts. Juno's busy at work, and then he isn't.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Meg Does Kinktober! [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947802
Comments: 12
Kudos: 132





	can't get no satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> really loving the energy of kinktober fics bouncing off each other's ideas all month...the collaboration...anyway jay made them fuck on juno's desk and i guess i also wanted a bite of that SO. apologies to rita she deserves a raise

Juno stirs awake in Peter’s arms with an flickering, soft smile already pulling at the corners of his mouth. Nureyev’s flight had arrived just before dawn, and by the time he’d found his way back though the restless city and up the rickety fire escape on the side of Juno’s apartment building, the sun was starting to rise. He had no particular inclination to sleep, at that hour, merely kicked off his shoes and settled in to wait. Juno didn’t leave him waiting long. 

One hand reaches out to him as Juno stretches, luxuriously. “When did you get in?” he murmurs, sleepily. 

Peter falls victim to a fond smile, and presses his lips to his cheek, gently, in greeting. “Scarce an hour ago now, love,” he murmurs, and, “Good morning.” 

“Good morning y’rself,” Juno says, a little petulantly. “Thought you weren’t back ‘til Wednesday.” 

“It is Wednesday, sweet,” Nureyev reminds him, tracing his fingers along the bare skin of Juno’s arm, across his shoulder. “Not overworking yourself again, are you?” 

Juno pouts, delightfully, disarmingly charming about it, rolling onto his back so Nureyev is half leaning over him. “I’ve been busy,” he argues, in a raspy, sleep-addled voice. “Crime doesn’t stop just because I feel like taking a day off.” 

Nureyev hums, and leans down to kiss the pout off his lips, soft and then a little more thorough. Juno’s temptingly soft and warm like this, half awake and half hard in his sleep shorts from some pleasant dream that kept him company whilst Peter was away. He makes a pleased little trill against Peter’s mouth, and then a bereft little sigh when he pulls away. “And now, dear?” Nureyev tilts his head to the side. Perhaps not quite reduced to begging, but a very near thing. “Can you spare the day, do you think?” 

Juno’s head falls back against the pillows, and he furrows his brow. Peter feels his heart sink a little in disappointment. “Fuck,” he grumbles. “I...I shouldn’t. I’m in the middle of a bunch of-- Tomorrow, okay? I’m all yours tomorrow. Promise.” 

A small but quite vocal petty streak wants to sigh and pull away and leave Juno cold, withdraw affection as a childish sort of punishment, but Nureyev doesn’t indulge it. He won’t spoil this reunion by letting jealousy get the better of him. He purses his lips together, and pushes his luck, instead. “I understand,” he says. “Duty calls the diligent detective, and he cannot help but answer. Perhaps I’ll join you, then. We can work together.”

“Really?” Juno looks relieved, and a little surprised. “Yeah, I mean, sure. If you want.” 

“Juno, dearest, I can think of no better way to spend my day than accompanying you to your office,” he promises, and offers him a quick, conciliatory kiss. His eyes drift down to the tent in Juno’s sleep shorts again, and he amends, “Although a certain other pastime also comes to mind, I will admit.” 

Juno bites his lip, and shifts his hips a little. “Don’t have to be in the office _just_ yet,” he offers, half coy and half sluggish. 

“In that case….” Peter cups at him through the thin fabric, the half-hard length lying against one soft thigh, and watches his face go slack with pleasure at the first hint of pressure. Warm and easy and lovely, spreading his legs apart and sighing contentedly. He squeezes a little more firmly, and bends to press his lips to the swell of one of Juno’s bare breasts, take the nipple into his mouth and suck, gently. 

“ _Nureyev_ ,” Juno sighs, in his throaty early-morning timbre. “Ah--ah. Fuck. Missed this.” 

“And I missed you,” Peter tells him, touching him without much urgency, in slow, teasing strokes, pressing kisses over his sternum and then allowing the other breast the same attentions. “My dearest detective.” 

Juno moans for him without restraint, turning his face into the pillow with a quiet whimper. Peter takes him out, gently, tugging his shorts just low enough to bare his hardness and sliding down the bed to press the flat of his tongue against the underside of the head, and then swallow it, filling his mouth with the salt tang of sweat and precum. 

Juno watches him with a hazy kind of pleasure, blissful and warm, stretched out over the mattress, one hand gripping at the sheets and the other playing idly over his chest. “Fuck, babe,” he mumbles. “Y’r mouth feels so good.” 

Peter grins, and presses a few idle kisses to his length, before tugging his shorts down around his ankles, and straightening to search the bedside table for lubricant. He lets a little drip slowly over Juno’s perineum, onto his own hand, and sets about easing a finger slowly inside, opening Juno with an easy, gentle pressure, and taking him into his mouth again as he does. 

“Gotta...hah. Gotta work,” Juno protests, when Peter slides a second finger in to press against his prostate, rubbing in small circles. “Mmmn, yeah, right _there_ \-- Shit, I mean. _Nureyev._ Don’t have time for you to f..fuck me right now.” 

“Of course, love,” Peter says, fondly, watching his cock twitch against his thigh with the gust of his breath. “Call it a future investment,” he explains. 

“What the h--uhh. _Hell_ does that mean?” 

Peter leans back over the bed to retrieve the first of the gifts he’d brought back, and slick it with the excess of the lube. The plug is moderately sized and quite elegantly formed, with a little ring at the base, and it slides in like a charm. 

“It means,” he says, pressing his lips to the inside of his thigh. “That you and I are going to wait until you’ve finished your work to take this out again.” 

“Fuck,” Juno breathes, grasping harder at the bedcovers and shuddering, once. “You’re a bastard, Nureyev, you know that?” 

“So you take care to remind me,” he agrees, and leans forward to catch Juno’s mouth in a lingering kiss. He plays idly with the toy, fucking shallowly so the widest point gives him a drawn-out stretch, and then pushing it in to rest comfortably. Juno’s hips shift a little, trying to find the right angle, and he whimpers again, teeth gritted. “I have these, too, if you like,” Peter tells him, dangling his other present so the little dangling jewels catch the light. 

“Holy shit,” Juno murmurs, more breath than sound.

He sets his jaw as Peter clips the intricate, bejeweled clamps on. The visual effect is like nothing so much as a delicate piercing, but the beauty of the cut crystal and silver wire is nothing to the beauty of the strangled gasp that escapes Juno when Peter fastens the toys to the peaks of his nipples. His hips shift again, almost unconsciously, and there’s a beguiling glazed look to his eye. Peter’s tempted, desperately, to forgo the plan entirely and take him here, but he contents himself with twisting gently on one of the clamps, and hearing Juno let out a shocked moan in protest. Delicate little thing. 

“What do you think, hmm?” he says, arousal burning low in his gut at the wanton display Juno makes. “Can you be good, sweet? Exercise a little patience for me?” 

Juno throws his head back, and groans, long and drawn out. He’s leaking onto his thigh, poor dear, and blushing hard enough that even his dark skin betrays the flush of blood in his face. “I am _not_ fucking talking to Rita like this,” he complains. 

Peter grins. “Then I suppose we had better leave quite soon, if you want to beat her to the office.” 

Now, when he pulls away and leaves Juno cold, it’s not a fit of pique but a deliberate tease, abandoning his lady love to suck in a deep breath and try to make himself decent. Peter retrieves a few more items from around the apartment, diligently planning ahead.

Juno looks almost composed, when all is said and done, in perhaps slightly looser fitting clothing than he might ordinarily reach for. A nice a-line skirt, too, either because it was easier to hide the fact that he’s still hard or because he intended to tease Nureyev right back with tantalizing glimpses of his thighs. His gait is a little uneven, and every time it becomes necessary to pause mid-step and exhale, slowly, Nureyev finds himself on the receiving end of a glare. He makes a show of ignoring it and carrying on as if nothing at all is going on, but in truth it’s delectably distracting, watching Juno struggle to pull himself together and never entirely succeed. 

It goes on like that the rest of the morning, Juno shifting occasionally in his seat and muffling noises behind his teeth, then turning his back and resolutely refusing to meet Nureyev’s eyes or even look up from the paperwork he’s filing. Peter plays along, chatting amiably about his travels and the petty minutiae of the interstellar flights home or asking leading questions about what cases have kept Juno busy the last few days. He gets clipped responses or quiet grunts and once, when he slips and murmurs, “You’re doing so well, detective,” low into Juno’s ear, a whimper.

After an hour or so, he sees Juno’s jaw clench as he looks over the paperwork in his hand, deliberating for a long moment before gritting his teeth and asking, with an edge of fury, if Nureyev wouldn’t mind bringing the lot out to Rita and asking her to look up the addresses listed on the third page. Peter smiles beatifically, and does as requested, shutting the office door behind him and lingering outside at Rita’s desk for minutes longer than the task requires of him. 

Rita is delightful company all on her own, but his aim is chiefly to linger long enough that when he finally does return to the office, he can see Juno hastily readjusting his posture, flushed and breathing hard and clearly having given in to the temptation to shove one hand under the waistband of his skirt and touch himself while Peter was away. 

He shuts the door behind him, and chuckles. “Well now, Juno. Getting impatient, are we?” 

Juno swallows hard, rocking his hips in small, imperceptible movements, perhaps without meaning to at all. “Goddamnit,” he grumbles, “I can’t fucking… _think_ with this damn thing in me, the hell did I let you talk me into this?” 

Nureyev grins, and props his shoulder against the wall. “You could always take a break, dear,” he suggests, airily. “A little respite does wonders for one’s concentration, I’ve found.” 

A palpably tense moment passes, Juno weighing the decision in the balance, pride straining against the weight of his rising desperation, after which he sits back and pointedly pushes the entire stack of documents deliberately off the desk to scatter across the floor in a windmill of paper. “Yeah, you know what? Fuck it.” 

Nureyev steps back, and opens the office door just wide enough to stick his head through and announce, brightly, “Rita, darling, why don’t you take lunch?” 

Behind the glowing plasma screens of her computers, there’s an incredulous hum. “Seems a little early to me, Mistah Ransom, plus I just polished off a whole bag of pickle-dusted popcorn and my momma always said you gotta wait an hour after you snack before a big meal or you’ll get a cramp--” Nureyev clears his throat, and Rita looks up, half-moon lenses poking above the row of monitors, and eyebrows raising high above that. “I’ll go ahead and make it an extra long lunch, then,” she agrees, and punches out. 

Peter takes the added precaution of locking the office door as he shuts it, and turns back to Juno, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “Now. You’re a little overdressed for me to bend you over this desk, love, don’t you think?” 

“Oh,” Juno groans, and does as he’s told, shrugging off his shirt and kicking off his boots as Nureyev marches around the desk to meet him, pull him to his feet and then spread him out over the simwood flat on his back. 

Lovingly, Peter traces one hand over his chest, and pins him down while the other flips his skirt up and tugs his panties down around his knees. “Ah, Juno,” he croons. “What _will_ I do with you, hm?” 

“Whatever the hell you want,” Juno says, brazen, “I’m all yours, just touch me, Nureyev, fuck--” 

The words turn to hoarse gasps in his mouth when Peter tugs at one of the jeweled toys clamped to his swollen nipples, and then the other. He squeezes Juno’s breasts, presses a kiss to the sensitive skin, marks him with a few well-placed bruises while he squirms and clutches at the edge of the desk, panting. 

“So eager for me,” he praises, a soft smile in his voice. “You know, I brought something along for just such an occasion.” 

Juno shudders, and glares at him. “You planned this,” he accuses. “You goddamn _wanted_ to fuck me on this desk.” 

Peter runs a hand along his side. “Darling, you know I love nothing more than to be inside you, but that would hardly be appropriate,” he says archly. “This is a workplace.” 

“Nureyev….” he growls, warningly. 

“Shh,” he soothes, and produces a high-end vibrator from his coat pocket, clicking it on. Another gift, as it happens. “I’ll be good to you, Detective, trust me.”

Juno eyes this newest development with arousal and suspicion in equal parts. “Did you loot a sex shop on the way back from the bank job, or something?” 

“I couldn’t fly home without a proper souvenir for my lady love, could I?” Nureyev confesses, and presses the buzzing toy against the head of Juno’s cock. He lets out a high, strangled moan in response, head falling back against the desk. Nureyev feels a sharp throb of arousal at the apex of his thighs, dizzying but hardly urgent enough to dissuade him from the task at hand. 

“F...fuck,” Juno says, eloquently, thrusting his hips into the vibration. “Feels so…I’m…nnhh--” 

“Really? I’m very glad to hear it,” Nureyev responds, perhaps a bit of a cheap shot, and spreads his thighs a little further to press his thumb against the plug seated inside Juno. “I like the way desperation looks on you, dear,” he says, traces the vibrator over his length and teases the plug out and in again. “You wear it so well.” 

Juno groans again, quite close by the way his thighs are beginning to tremble, and Peter clicks the vibrator off, careful not to end the game too soon. “Fu-uck,” he says again, voice breaking, and repeats it half a dozen times in succession to drive the point home, palms slapping against the surface of the desk. Nureyev laughs. 

A year ago, when his experience in the sadistic side of seduction was more purely theoretical, this would be where he’d pause, if only to reassure himself, kiss Juno softly and ask if he really was being too cruel. But he knows himself better now, knows Juno better too, and he carries on secure in the understanding that he’s pushing his partner exactly as far as he likes to be pushed. 

He considers it, perhaps, when after the third long round of dragging him to the edge and pulling him back again tears start to leak from the corner of Juno’s eye, and his breath comes in heavy, gasping sobs. Considers it, until Juno of his own accord spits out a shaky, “Don’t stop.” 

“Darling,” he lilts, with renewed assurance, “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Peter feels rather like a lit firework, every choked-off moan he pulls from Juno sending a cascade of sparks through him, a little frisson of heat, and his hips are starting to rock unconsciously in time with Juno’s curses and pleas. It wouldn’t do to simply give in and rut against his thigh, or reach down and bring himself off, not when the focus of the scene is on Juno so completely, when everything hinges on keeping tight control over the both of them. “Do you want to come, love?” he asks, idly. 

Juno heaves for breath, face turned into the crook of an arm. “Please, fuck--”

“Because I think I’m quite nearly ready to let you,” he continues, tracing one hand down his shaking thigh. “If you’re very good for me.” 

Peter braces his hands against the edge of the desk and swings himself onto it, maneuvers so he’s perched with his knees each side of Juno’s shoulders. Juno’s hands come up to clutch at his thighs almost immediately, dragging him down, and Peter laughs, breathily, at the low groan he makes when he sees him wet through the thin material of his leggings. “Sh-shit, Nureyev, oh my god--”

“Suck me off, won’t you?” he says, and is rewarded with a stroke of Juno’s tongue over his clothed cock, and a muffled whine. The exact expression on his face is quite hidden from this angle, but Nureyev can see him twitch when he grinds his hips down. 

He clicks the toy on, and leans forward to tease him with it again. Juno makes a strangled sound that he can feel the vibration of against his cock, and tugs his hips down harder. They find a kind of harmony in it, mirroring the motions of Juno’s tongue with the buzzing pressure of the toy. He prefers as a rule having Juno’s tongue inside him, fucking him properly, but truly there’s no wrong way to feel Juno’s mouth on him, Juno’s hands grasping at his waist, Juno moaning wantonly while he grinds against his tongue. 

“ _Good_ girl, Juno, oh,” he gasps, and then, “ _Oh,_ ” again as he tips suddenly over the edge, folding under the intense wash of sensation, the lightning-bolt pleasure of his orgasm, thighs tensing and mouth falling open. “ _Juno--_ ”

Juno doesn’t let up his attentions, but his hips jerk hard against the desk, and he comes with a sharp gasp, making a thorough mess of himself and trembling with the aftershocks of it. Nureyev traces a hand along his waist, and then ventures a teasing brush of his fingers over one swollen nipple. Juno shudders, once, and lets out a pained whimper. 

His legs are unsteady as he dismounts, but it’s nothing to the tremor in Juno’s thighs, the bruised canvas of his chest and the come painted over his stomach. His mouth is wet with Nureyev, and his mussed, wrinkled skirt will need a very discreet laundering to be re-admissible to his regular wardrobe. “Shit,” Juno exhales, “You got your day off, babe, I’m gonna need all damn week to recover from that.” 

Peter can’t quite resist a little more showmanship when he slips the plug out of Juno, nor the smug smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I expect you’ll find yourself confined to bed for the foreseeable future, yes,” he crows, happily. “I missed you terribly, you know.” 

Juno groans, long and loud, scrubbing his hands over his face, until the tail end of the sound devolves into a fond chuckle. “Fuck, I’m glad you’re back, Nureyev,” he sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> comments! yes! i like them! i've appreciated every one on this series so far thank you all for the feedback


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